


Consequence

by IceQueen1



Category: Deception (TV 2018)
Genre: 5 + 1, 5 Times, Cameron Whump, Collaboration, Drowning, Electrocution, Gen, Hospital, Hurt Cameron, Illusions, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jonathan whump, Pre series, Sebastian Black was a terrible dad, Whump, hurt jonathan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceQueen1/pseuds/IceQueen1
Summary: Cameron may have a stubborn streak a mile long and an issue with self-preservation, but he wasn't always the one getting injured. Back stage had its own perils, and Cameron wasn't always the one on the line.AKA 5 times it was Jonathan who wound up in the hospital, and the 1 time it was Cameron. Collaboration/challenge with heyystiles and an excuse for brotherly love and whump.





	1. Electrocution

**Author's Note:**

> So heyystiles and I spend an obscene amount of time on Tumblr talking about this show and our head canons for what it must've been like growing up as the Black brothers, and this came from it (and that we need more fics in this fandom, because damn, ya'll are the nicest bunch already). Anyway, Mirrors will likely become its own fic, but this is a 'in the mean time' excuse to beat the hell out of my favorite brothers. She's doing her own 5+1 that's Cameron vs Jonathan, so this is collaboration/challenge/gifting back and forth to one another. ish.

Somedays, Jonathan got really sick of his father’s shit.

Okay, most days.

Edging towards _every day_.

Didn’t that man need sleep? How could he just go and go and _go_ and live off coffee and adrenaline?

Probably because _he_ didn’t have to do all the planning. The never ending amount of safety checks to make sure that no one was going to get hurt this go around.

It might not have been so bad if Cameron was at least _marginally_ interested in his own self-preservation, but _noooo_. Always “higher, Johnny!” or “faster, Johnny!” because his brother was an adrenaline junkie of the worst order when it came to illusions. Death defying? Ha! More like _coronary inducing for your poor family members watching from the wings_. And he was _fast_. Blink, and he’d already done the thing that Jonathan was in the middle of explaining was dangerous and possibly deadly and still needed a few tweaks before they could try it.

Fortunately, one of Cameron’s many talents included being _stupid_ lucky. Like he was fast enough, not even the cosmos could catch up to him.

In fairness, only half of his rash behavior could be pinned on himself. The rest of it was some insane desire to please Sebastian, which, honestly, Jonathan never truly understood. Unless he needed a kidney, he wasn’t interested in anything from their father. That man locked Cam in a metal coffin starting at 7 years old to teach him a lesson.

To teach _them_ a lesson.

And Jonathan learned it _so well_ , he had never, and _would_ never, forgive him. He would leave him in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for Cameron. Because Sebastian was never going to let him go. Cameron was his great opus – his heir to the throne of Master of Deception. And Cameron would never leave – he _loved_ magic. Even if their father wasn’t there, Cameron wouldn’t have left the stage behind, and Jonathan couldn’t really fault him for it. He was _good_. _So_ good. He loved seeing the reactions in the audience, he loved being the one to help them escape their mundane lives, to see that spark of child-like awe and wonder at what they were seeing on stage.

Jonathan couldn’t keep the look of contempt off his face long enough to do a show. Even Jordan pointed out how he was _obviously_ not Cameron when he was in front of an audience. His smile was a little too sharp, his eyes a little too dark, and while he was just as good at the illusions themselves (sometimes even better) as Cameron – he _hated_ the crowd, and it showed on his face every second he was up there.

Because all of it was _so easy_ and _obvious_ to him, why couldn’t _they_ see it? How stupid could they be?

And now his dad wanted newer, flashier, _fancier_ illusions, with things that had nothing to do with slight of hand but made the stage look like Fourth of July indoors. Which was fine and dandy for Sebastian, because _Sebastian_ wasn’t the one who was going to be performing the new illusions, it was going to be Cameron, which meant that he had glossed over half a dozen safety checks (and so had Cameron) in a rush to have the special effects rigged in time for tomorrow night’s show in Vienna.

And of course, Cameron thought they were cool, so he didn’t disagree with the impossible deadline.

“Hey, stop that!”

Jonathan hadn’t even been paying attention to the people around him until someone reached up and grabbed his arm, pulling it away from the electrical box.

“ _Let go_ ,” he snapped, ripping his hand out of their grip before registering who it was.

Gunter looked at him, frowning. “You were giving that all the tender loving care you give a steak when you’re tenderizing it.”

Jonathan hadn’t even noticed. He was still fuming about the electrical props master having no backbone to stand up to Sebastian when the latter forced him to approve the safety check when it was only half finished, which meant _he_ had to.

He shrugged. “It’s a mess. Nothing is labelled. I turned the power off at the box backstage so I wouldn’t electrocute myself, but _damn_. Where does Sebastian even _get_ these people?”

Despite being a top selling magician, invited to perform in front of royalty on more than one occasion in more than one country, Sebastian Black tended to hire less scrupulous people for behind the scenes because his paranoia won out over practicality. In the off chance someone realized that there were two of them, it was easier to persuade them to keep their mouths shut if they had to worry about going to prison over OSHA violations.

Gunter grunted. He appreciated the workmanship about as much as Jonathan did, and that was one of the many, _many_ reasons Jonathan was happy to have him on set. One, because he was good at his job. And two – because he could stand up to Sebastian with nothing more than a scowl and a vague threat involving body parts as jewelry accessories.

“Your dad was pushing to have it set up for a trial run,” Gunter warned. “Thought you ought to know, if you’re going to be digging around elbow deep in wires.”

“I told the stage manager not to energize anything until I got back.”

“Yeah. And we know your dad doesn’t like it when people tell him no.”

Jonathan snorted. _Did he ever_.

He glanced back at the wiring, fairly confident he’d managed to get it into semi working order without risking life and limb, but his obsessive nature didn’t allow for assumptions. He raised the screwdriver in his hand to adjust one last grounding wire and then suddenly he was looking straight up and back, his vision spotty and whited out like the color of the world had suddenly drained away. His mouth tasted like copper, and his entire jaw ached so bad he wondered who he’d gotten into a fight with _this_ time.

His ears were ringing. Not ringing. Ringing made him think of bells, and it wasn’t bells he could hear. More like a whistle – like someone had left a teapot on to boil too long, except higher pitched. He reached his hands up to block out the noise, but his arms were stuck – frozen – skin pulled taught across whitened knuckles as every muscle in his body seized and locked tight.

Someone was yelling at him.

Someone was _screaming_ at him.

He couldn’t even turn his head to look.

“ _Breathe_!”

Something hit him _hard_ in the chest and it wasn’t until he managed to suck in a shuddering breath that he realized he hadn’t been breathing.

The thought should’ve disturbed him more, but everything felt…detached. Distant. Except…except now that he was trying to concentrate, the detachment started to fade, and the world came back in screeching full-technicolor detail and surround sound and it _hurt hurthurt **hurt**. _

Everything except the hand that last he knew held the screwdriver.

Which he couldn’t feel at all.

“Johnny? _Johnny_?”

Someone cautiously put a hand on his shoulder and he couldn’t help the groan of protest because it didn’t _feel_ feather light and his skin still tingled like fire ants were crawling just beneath the surface. His brain usually wouldn’t _shut up_ , giving him every possible scenario and a wealth of information he didn’t necessarily want was now painfully blank.

“What happened?” he tried to ask, except his mouth didn’t quite work the way he intended and it came out less like words, more like gibberish.

 _Even his teeth hurt_.

“Johnny, blink if you hear me,” someone demanded.

That was easy enough. Except once his eyes were closed he didn’t really want to open them again until he heard his brother, and he did _not_ sound okay.

He sounded like he did when their dad was making them practice something that involved a small, dark, _locked_ space.

If _he_ was down, there was a good chance _Cameron_ was down, too, and he fought to sit back up before his eyes even opened because if Cameron was panicking, he needed to _go_.

“Cam-?”

Someone pushed him back down with frightening ease.

“He’s fine. He wasn’t even on stage. He’s worried about _you_.”

Then Cam would be here. Something was wrong.

He fought against the hands keeping him down.

“ _Stay **still**_ ,” the voice demanded, and before he could protest, the voice had turned away and was calling to someone else. “Let him through, already!”

“Mr. Black said - ”

“I don’t care what the old bastard said, _let him through_.”

And suddenly Cameron was there, filling his entire field of vision, looking panicked but…fine. No blood. No bruises. No suddenly oddly curved shape of an occipital bone.

“Why’s there blood on his mouth? He’s not…?”

Was there? Huh. That explained the copper.

“He bit the inside of his mouth. But that’s over 500 volts, so Cameron, listen to me – you can see him, you can go to the hospital, but you can’t be here when the ambulance gets here. Alright?”

Ahhh… _Gunter_ , his brain supplied belatedly. Always the voice of reason in an emergency.

“Johnny?”

Cameron was asking permission for him to go. And Johnny knew if he said no, Cameron would listen. Even if it meant the wrath of their father.

But as much as Jonathan desperately wanted his _brother_ to be there, to not let go of the hand that had wormed its way into his and get to be _real_ brothers for once in their lives, _he_ couldn’t let Cameron face Sebastian alone.

“ ‘m f’ne,” he mumbled.

 _Go, Cameron_.

There was a pause, a beat, and Cameron squeezed his hand. “I’ll be _right there_ , okay?”

And then he was gone, and Jonathan’s brain unhelpfully conjured up a _ta da_ – Cameron was finally the Disappearing Boy before he passed out.

* * *

 

Fun fact about electrocuting yourself by accident because someone energizes a circuit clearly tagged out – over 500 volts? You win an automatic overnight in the hospital to monitor your heart.

Also fun fact – you could accidentally break your bones from seizing up violently from all that extra voltage. You could even get permanent nerve damage – or, even better – _heart_ damage. Electric shock had after effects that could present up to twenty four hours later, so the show was cancelled because it was a fairly publicized accident.

Jonathan was strangely grateful about that. It meant Cam could and _did_ stay at the hospital with him, albeit with enough stage makeup it took even him a minute to recognize him when he woke up.

Cam informed him that he so far _hadn’t_ had any of the side effects they were worried about. His hand was burned pretty bad though, but it wasn’t third degree – the numbness after the accident was shock (not the electrical kind, Cam pointed out). So no permanent damage.

Sharing the hospital bed was cramped, but neither of them really minded. Despite being forced to live publicly as one person, they had very little time with just each other that _wasn’t_ practice, or being holed up in a hotel room where no one could see them, and Cameron wasn’t about to trust medical equipment to monitor his brother’s health. Besides. It was the only way both of them could watch TV.

In the middle of a commercial for Double Mint gum featuring eight sets of twins to reinforce the idea of ‘double the pleasure, double the fun’ which as far as Jonathan was concerned sounded like a fetish porn title instead of a gum brand tagline, Cameron spoke.

“No more risks, Johnny.”

Easier said than done.

“You first,” he said.  


	2. Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan doesn't like the water. Now he has good reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this thing became a monster. I was worried it would be too short and then...it just kept growing, and it's suddenly almost 5000 words. Also - SO PISSED THIS SHOW GOT CANCELLED AND THEY KEPT THAT GARBAGE AGENTS OF SHIELD. REALLY?! YOU COULDN'T KEEP THIS ONE SHOW DOING PRETTY DAMN WELL ON A WEIRD NIGHT AND TIME WITH LIKE NO ADVERTISING FOR IT?! Anyway. I plan to start a petition to save it. No idea how well it will go, but we'll see. Come find me on Tumblr as DisappearingInq (I also just like to talk to people on there). Anyway. Onwards!
> 
> PS: Also, since I just spaced on it - CharmHex1375 asked about the ages for the boys in this. I don't really have one, but younger than 18? If I had to say, I would say 15 or 16 for this one, and 18 in the last chapter.

Jonathan stood at the edge of the diving tower, staring down into the crystalline blue water. The bottom looked deceptively close from up here – he could almost convince himself it was only a few feet down. Not the forty feet it actually was.

It even looked bright, and sunny, and almost inviting, considering the heat of the day already and it was barely noon.

Someone brushed against his shoulder and Jonathan jumped like he’d been struck by lightning, shoving himself back so fast away from the water that he nearly tripped off the other side until a familiar hand grabbed his flailing arm.

“Hey – you’re fine,” Cameron said, smiling, pulling him back onto the platform with gentle ease, not letting go even after he’d found his footing again. “I’m not gonna push you in.”

Which Jonathan knew. He _knew_ his brother wouldn’t even tease about it. But that didn’t seem to matter to his stupid brain that couldn’t help but come up with everything that could go wrong just standing this close to open, deep water.

And how forty feet was too far between him and air if it did.

Jonathan would be the first to admit, he didn’t like the water. Specifically, he didn’t like _deep_ water. Nothing that required him to need a mask or diving suit. Instead of feeling weightless and free like Cameron described it, it always felt like he was being crushed. He didn’t even really know why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like he could remember any particularly traumatic incident, or even a close call, or anything else that he thought would explain why whenever he even looked at the deep end of the pool, he felt his skin crawl, and the water pressing in from every angle until he drowned.

So when Sebastian pitched the idea of reenacting Houdini’s ‘Great Water Escape’ to him, Jonathan flat out refused before he even finished the sentence. And that was before their dad mentioned that the actual act was called ‘water _torture’_ escapes, or Jonathan watched the biography on how he did it (complete with pictures of Houdini folded in on himself in a giant metal container that looked uncomfortably like the one Sebastian used to lock them in as they poured water in to the container and latched the lid shut), or saw the death toll for how many people had tried and failed at it.

No. Absolutely not. He didn’t even like swimming in the hotel pools. He wasn’t about to wrap himself in chains, tie himself to a metal ball and hurl himself off the end of a pier for jollies. _Especially_ not because their dad asked him to.

Asked. Commanded. Whatever. It has about the same effect of garnering some colorful language and a some hard to misinterpret sign language involving one finger.

“The only way you’re getting me in that water is if you throw me in,” Jonathan snapped, folding his arms as he glared defiantly up at Sebastian.

“You think I won’t?” Sebastian asked quietly, leaning down so he was looming over him.

Sebastian was not one to tolerate what he called ‘irrational behavior’. It hadn’t mattered to him that Cameron didn’t like small, dark, cramped spaces. He was the better performer – he needed to be the one on stage, and that meant he needed to _learn_ to like them. Or at least tolerate them long enough that he could get through the act. Sebastian maintained that his desperation to escape them was what drove him to be even faster than Jonathan at lock picking.

Well, yeah. Weird, how when faced with a worst fear you learned how to get away from it as fast as humanly possible. Shocking, even.

Sebastian hadn’t appreciated his oldest son’s sarcasm, and just for that, Johnny couldn’t stay with Cam when the time came for learning how to escape an iron maiden.

Jonathan grit his teeth together so hard he thought his teeth would crack. “If you throw me in? You’re coming in with me.”

If he had to drown for someone’s entertainment, he was taking someone down with him, and it wouldn’t be Cam.

“I thought you were sick of hiding in the shadows, Jonathan. This is your chance to be in the spotlight,” Sebastian pointed out, tone somewhere between mocking and coercive.

Under forty feet of water, with 80lbs of extra weight tied around his waist, his hands, his feet, his _neck_.

“I’d rather try the bullet catch,” he snarled. Because as much as he wanted his own life, it would be a little hard to enjoy if it ended at the bottom of a pool.

Later that night, with just him and Cameron in the Archive while Sebastian was off doing who cared what with some investors – Cameron cautiously piped up.

“I told Dad I’d do it.”

Jonathan’s coin dropped from between numbed fingers, the worn and familiar bit of metal rolling away across the floor as he stared at his brother, convinced he’d misheard. Because wasn’t _that_ suicidal, was he?

“Come again?”

Cameron shrugged sheepishly, but Jonathan knew it for what it was. If Cameron told Sebastian he’d do something, there was no way to talk him out of it.

No matter how hard Jonathan tried.

“Cam… _why_ in hell would you agree to do something like…” Jonathan swallowed convulsively, because his _oh so helpful brain_ immediately flashed through the statistics of how many illusionists had died trying to outperform Houdini – or even just recreate it.

Illusionists who favored water tricks didn’t get a chance to die from old age.

Cameron shrugged again, flipping through his deck of cards with practiced ease as one after another boomeranged out in a graceful arc and back to his other hand. “Because you don’t want to.”

“ _So_?” That shouldn’t be a reason for his brother to risk getting killed in one of the most often fatal tricks in magic history.

“And because you know he’ll _make_ one of us,” Cameron said quietly.

Because he had before.

“Yeah, but-”

“And it’d be _you_.”

Jonathan felt his heart skip a beat and the blood drain from his face fast enough he saw spots, felt that familiar chill in his fingers when he realized Cameron was right and their dad asked them the impossible and no wasn’t an option, like he’d already been dropped in the water wrapped in iron as he watched the crushing darkness eclipse the sun and –

“ _Hey!_ ”

Warm fingers pressed against either side of his face, forcing the imagined chill of icy water back. He hadn’t even realized Cameron had moved from the other side of the couch, but there he was, kneeling in front of him, trying to convince him to “ _breathe_.”

It took longer than he liked.

“I’m sorry, Cam, I’m…I _don’t know why_ …” he floundered for words that usually came so easily to him, and the more he tried to come up with some way to apologize for something he couldn’t even explain, the more the feeling of being slowly suffocated beneath the water started to itch back under his skin and –

Cameron lightly tapped his forehead against his. “ _Stop thinking_.”

Jonathan tried to force himself to remember he was breathing _air_ not _water_.

“I know how you feel about the water. I won’t let Dad make you. I’ll do this, and you can stay up here, on nice, dry, warm, solid ground. Don’t let that brain of yours get carried away with the _what ifs_ , huh?”

“What if you drown?”

Cameron sighed, but smiled good naturedly. “Dude. We have _got_ to work on your pep talks…positive reinforcement goes a long way, you know? I’m not gonna drown.”

“How do you know?”

His brother’s knowing smile lit the room. “Because. You won’t let me.”

The amount of faith Cameron had in him was flattering, but Jonathan also knew it was because he had none in Sebastian, and rightly so. Jonathan was the faster lock pick, the more meticulous planner that left nothing to chance because it was more than just their father’s reputation on the line.

It was their lives.

Sebastian may be willing to gamble with his own, or think nothing of asking the same of his young sons, but Jonathan was determined he and Cam were going to live their lives long enough not to have to share one.

* * *

“You know, you don’t have to be up here,” Cameron pointed out lightly. He was soaking wet, water dripping from hair that was plastered against his forehead and from his clothes. He wasn’t in swim gear – because they practiced the way they performed and no matter how confident Cameron was, he wasn’t prepared to be more than half naked in from of thousands of people while trying to escape a water trap – and his clothing plastered to his skin.

Which was looking decidedly blue.

The day may be hot, but the water was still only 60 degrees, and they’d been at this for hours. Sebastian had given Jonathan enough leeway to re-engineer the famous escape only because he thought the new system had more ‘wow’ factor.

In the original escape, Houdini bound himself in chains – around his hands, around his neck, around his feet, like a prisoner’s five point restraints – and carried the cannon ball in his hands that would act as a weight, and then jumped in, head first. Simple enough.

Jonathan didn’t like the finality of a weight strapped to Cameron as he jumped into the pool. If something went wrong, if someone had to go and get him, they would have to take the weight, too, and that was not something he was prepared to risk. And the length of time it took Cameron to reach the bottom was precious wasted seconds of air before he could start his escape.

Instead, Jonathan designed it with a winch and length of rope attached to the chains Sebastian insisted upon being used (because a rope wasn’t scary enough, Jonathan), so that Cameron would essentially be towed towards the bottom of the dive tower, and tethered there until he freed himself. Or, in the event of an emergency, could be loosened and Cameron was free to swim his way back to the surface, or one of the safety divers could grab him without worrying about extra weight bringing them both down.

The stunt was easy enough, because that’s all it was. Just lock picking under water, but with Cameron’s flair for the dramatic. _Cameron_ could hold his breath for four minutes, give or take, and he actually liked the water, so he could take his sweet ass time about getting himself free while making it _look_ like he was struggling, even though he wasn’t.

But it wasn’t the complexity of the trick that made Jonathan break into a cold sweat every time he watched Houdini’s famous escape. It was the words that haunted him. When Houdini started the water escapes, he would turn to the audience and tell them that when he took his final breath before he dove in, he wanted them to do the same. And when they needed to take a breath, remember where he was, and imagine what he was feeling.

Harry Houdini could hold his breath for over three minutes. Most people could barely manage one. So when they gulped for air only a fraction of the way through the stunt, it upped the intensity factor, so sure were they that he must be drowning by now.

Every time Cam jumped in the water, when his head disappeared below the surface, Jonathan held his breath until his brother came back up.

“I think you’ve had enough practice for one day,” Jonathan said, eyeing the safety harness around Cameron’s waist. It looked like it was holding well enough, but Cameron’s luck (or lack thereof) with safety features was a bit legendary.

“Y-yeah, I kind of agree,” he said through chattering teeth as he rubbed his arms, hopping up and down slightly to try and warm himself. “I can’t feel my fingers anymore to try and work the locks. I don’t even know if I can undo the buckle for the harness.”

Jonathan huffed, rolling his eyes at his brother. “You know, you _could_ always call it quits before hypothermia sets in. Just throwing it out there. A bit of an FYI…brotherly PSA. Just saying.”

“I get it, I get it…lecture me when I’m not freezing to death. Could you just get it off me? I can’t feel my hands and I want a towel.”

His lips were turning blue, and his skin was paler than normal, and the clothing did little to hide it.

The slackened rope coiled around itself where Cameron had heaped it after his last dive, sitting in a pile like a sleeping snake on the platform.

“And what’s the magic word?” Jonathan prompted, already tugging at the water logged safety harness.

“A-a-abracadabra, you d-dick,” Cameron stuttered.

After hours in and out of the water, the leather on the straps had absorbed enough water that they didn’t slide easily through the complex maze of buckles and cinches Sebastian had worked into the harness because _nothing_ could be simple with that man, and Jonathan had to yank on them to even get them to move.

“ _Ow_ ,” Cameron muttered every time Jonathan had to really pull on the straps, pulling them tight across water logged skin and chafing fabric. “ _Ow_. Ow. **Ow**.”

“Oh, quit whining, you big baby,” Jonathan grumbled. This was ridiculous. He was going to find something made out of nylon or something. What good was a safety harness no one could undo?

“H-hey, n-not t-t-to bother you,” Cameron asked, “b-but did you know the winch is winding the r-rope again?”

Jonathan whirled. “ _What_?”

Before he even looked, Jonathan could hear someone yelling several yards away on the other side of the dive tower, and now that he was listening could hear the argument – something on the machinery had failed, and it was winding the rope tight again.

A quick glance at the traitorous rope told Jonathan not only was the cursed thing winching tight again, but it was _speeding up_.

“J-Johnny?”

Cameron’s voice was small, barely audible above the drag of the rope or the operators yelling at one another, slamming on the console to try and get it to stop, but Jonathan could hear the fear in his voice.

“Shit, shit, _shitshit_ _ **shit**_ ,” Jonathan swore, yanking at the harness with full force now – Cameron could live with bruises, but he was too cold to go back in the water with a full breath of air, and if the leather was hard to move _now_ it was going to be worse under water and _why_ didn’t he bring his knife with him today, he could’ve just cut the stupid rope and been done with it and the slide of the rope on the deck sounded too much like slithering and everyone was shouting around him making it impossible to _think_ –

“ _Johnny!_ ” Cameron yelled, blue fingers trying to yank at the same buckles Jonathan was working on and he slapped his hands away because it was impossible to see with his hands in the way – blue hands, blue like ice, blue like the water that was about to swallow him whole and –

The last buckle slid free as Jonathan all but ripped the harness off his brother, dropping it to the deck as he pushed Cameron back and away from it _just to make sure he’d gotten free of it_ – and heaved an audible sigh of relief when he could see nothing was still attached, and his brother practically _wilted_ in relief.

Until something cinched tight around his ankle, yanking his foot out from underneath him so fast he couldn’t even put his hands out to stop his fall, slamming face first into the deck with a sickening _crack_ and all he saw was stars before he was dragged into the water.

* * *

“ _Johnny!”_ Cameron shouted, lunging forwards faster than anyone else could even register what happened. His hand closed around his brother’s wrist, and he had a split second to suck in one last breath of air before they were both pulled beneath the surface.

The tangled mess that was the harness had cinched tight around Johnny’s foot, tethering him with the rope as the winch continued to pull them down.

As bad as it was being in the water debatably conscious, Cameron was almost a little glad his brother wasn’t fully aware of what was going on.

 _Panicking_ would be so much worse.

Cameron pulled himself along his brother like some deranged version of underwater leap frog, latching onto the tangled rope around Johnny’s foot. It had pulled painfully tight, digging into the skin just above his ankle and Cameron really hoped he hadn’t broken anything when it’d cinched tight.

The winch continued to drag them down, and Cameron didn’t want to imagine what would happen if the rope kept winding even when they hit the anchor point – if Johnny’s ankle was broken yet, it _would_ be after getting caught in the machinery, and then they would _really_ be stuck.

Mentally apologizing for how much it would hurt later, Cameron wrenched his brother’s foot free of the rope, feeling it pop beneath his fingers when he bent it at an angle no human foot was meant to go in, but the rope twisted free and they were no longer being dragged downwards.

The previous chill in his limbs was gone, and Cameron wrapped one arm around his semi-conscious brother’s chest, swimming as fast as he could for the surface that felt like it was miles above him.

As they broke the surface, Cameron gasping for air, it sounded like he’d surfaced in the middle of a riot – everyone was shouting, either at him or each other, he wasn’t sure, but the stage hands were at the edge of the pool, reaching for the both of them.

“Take him!” Cameron demanded, pushing Johnny in front of him.

He hadn’t even moved since going into the water. Cameron didn’t know if he was even breathing. But for Johnny to even _be_ in the water without a fight was enough cause for concern, and he didn’t even know how hard he’d hit his head against the deck – just that there had been a _crack_.

Johnny was pulled from the water, laid out on the deck as one of the stage hands felt for a pulse at his neck and two others helped pull Cameron from the water.

Sebastian was nowhere to be found.

Cameron shoved his way through the crowd, dropping to his knees next to Johnny’s still form. Blood had smeared from his nose, the skin at the crown of his forehead split to the bone and bleeding heavily, but Johnny’s eyes were open – just unseeing – and for a heart stopping moment Cameron was sure he was dead.

“ _Breathe, Johnny_!” he shouted, and jabbed his finger harshly into his brother’s mouth, eliciting a violent gag reflex. “ _Come_ _ **on**_!”

Johnny started to cough, _violently_ , gasping and choking and vomiting up the water he’d managed to inhale as Cameron turned him on his side so he wouldn’t aspirate on it.

He could hear sirens in the background. Someone had called 911.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay, we’re _fine_...” Cameron told his brother, trying for soothing but pretty sure he just came off as manic and like he was trying to reassure himself just as much as he was trying to convince Johnny. He rubbed his hand against his brother’s back, trying to remember if that was what you were supposed to do for someone that almost drowned, or if it could make things worse. CPR on a conscious person was bad, right? Or was that what he was supposed to do? He wanted desperately to hug his brother, to make feel that he was _alive_ and _whole_ , but he was afraid to touch him.

He settled for the hand on Johnny’s back as his other gripped Johnny’s – now as cold as his own.

 _What do I do, Johnny_? _**What do I do**_ _?_

Johnny’s coughing abated, but he still didn’t move. He stayed curled over on his side, barely conscious but at least he was breathing – albeit raggedly, but Cameron would take it.

“Cameron, come on, you need to leave before the EMT’s get here.”

Cameron swatted away the hand on his shoulder. “No. I’m not leaving Johnny.”

Not after that.

“ _Cameron_.”

 _That_ voice got his attention, and Cameron looked up to see Sebastian standing over him.

“If you want to go with your brother, you _must_ leave now,” Sebastian warned.

The fact that Sebastian wasn’t even arguing that _yes_ , Cameron would be able to go with Johnny, should’ve made him wonder, but he was too focused on the fact that in his other hand, Sebastian held one of Johnny’s hoodies.

“Put it on. _Now_. And then get dry clothes. We’ll meet the ambulance at the hospital.”

Cameron just stared numbly at the hoodie in his hand without moving until Sebastian bodily pulled him to his feet.

“ _Move_ , Cam.”

Except when their father pulled him up, Johnny’s grip tightened on Cameron’s.

“ _Cam_?”

It was raspy and faint, and Cameron barely heard it, but it was there.

“Johnny?”

“ _Cameron_ ,” Sebastian hissed, not letting up on his arm. “ _No one_ can know there’s two of you. Do you understand? _No one_.”

Something was different about the way he said it. Not just the normal paranoia, or insistence that the gig would be up if people knew the secret to the Disappearing Boy, but something...darker.

He didn’t have time to wonder about it. He could hear the crew directing the EMT’s to where they were.

“Johnny, I _promise_ I will be right back, okay? I _promise_.”

Johnny didn’t let go of his hand, but clenched it tighter, white knuckled.

“Johnny, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, but I _have_ to go now, but I will be _right back_. Understand?”

As much as it killed him to do it, Cameron pulled his brother’s fingers loose from his, kissing them gently like their mother used to do when they were younger.

Before he could protest more, or have a change at heart, Sebastian yanked Cameron away from his brother, shoving the hoodie over his head and steering him away just as the emergency services people came up the stairs to the top of the tower.

He was managing until he heard his brother panic as they tried to lift the backboard with him on it, and he _knew_ it was because he could see the water again.

Strapped down, tied to something and lifted above the pier where he could see the pool, even through the blood in his eyes, Johnny started to scream.

And then he started to thrash.

“ _Joh-_ ” was all he managed to get out, turning in his father’s iron grip before Sebastian’s hand clapped over his mouth, and he bodily lifted him against him.

“ _No one can know there’s two of you_ ,” Sebastian hissed in his ear, pinning him immobile as Johnny’s panicking grew worse until he was suddenly silent. Either he’d passed out, or they’d given him something, but Cameron felt himself die a little inside, knowing his brother had no idea where he was or what was happening and he couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it.

“Get changed,” Sebastian ordered. “And find a way to hide your face. We’ll meet them there.”

* * *

  


When Johnny awoke in the hospital, it was night. The window outside showed the yellow tint of the New York City skyline, and the room was quiet.

There was a steady beeping in the background, which was more annoying than soothing, and Johnny automatically reached out a hand to slap off the alarm, but found it pinned to his side by a warm and heavy.

“Finally,” Cameron said, though it was kind of muffled where his brother’s face was pressed against his arm. Cameron was curled up like a cat against his side, in what looked like the least comfortable position imaginable.

But he was alive.

The last thing Jonathan remembered was trying to undo the buckles on the harness before it dragged his brother to a watery grave.

He shuddered at the memory, but tried to push it away by distracting himself.

“Is that my sweatshirt?” Johnny asked, and winced at the dryness in his mouth that made his tongue stick to his teeth. His throat made an audible click when he swallowed, and before he could even think to ask, Cameron was sitting up holding a straw out to him.

He went to drink greedily, feeling like he’d been stuck in a desert for days, except when the water hit the back of his throat, everything came flooding back and he found himself suddenly choking again.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Cameron soothed, pulling the water away just as quickly, rubbing one hand soothingly across Johnny’s shoulders. “ _You’re okay_.”

Johnny pulled in a shuddering breath, chanting mentally to himself _it’s air, it’s_ _ **air**_ _,_ before looking his brother in the eye.

“But I wasn’t...was I?”

Cameron cringed, and for a moment looked like he wasn’t going to answer.

“No,” he said softly. “You weren’t _.”_

They sat in silence, not needing to speak to understand what that meant. What it could’ve meant. How precarious their lives were.

“They thought you had a skull fracture. And they’re still worried about pneumonia or dry drowning or something like that. And I think I green stick fractured your ankle trying to untie you. It’s all purple now,” Cameron explained in quick, clinical fashion. He paused. “Dad canceled the special.”

Jonathan couldn’t help the jaw drop of surprise.

“Really?”

Cameron nodded his head once.

“Well, that’s…” good? Bad? Jonathan didn’t actually know how to react to that, because it was pretty much unthinkable. Delay, maybe, but cancel?

Cameron was quiet again, which was just weird for him, and Jonathan wondered what else happened that he didn’t remember. “Cam?”

His brother didn’t answer, or even look him in the face. Instead, he curled up back against his side, burrowing underneath his arm in his borrowed hoodie.

Jonathan didn’t press him for an answer, but let him get comfortable because honestly, even though the bed was cramped enough, he didn’t want his brother to go. They were both quiet for a long while, long enough that Johnny was starting to drift off back to sleep, until Cameron spoke.

“Johnny?” he whispered. “I don’t think I like the water anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just an FYI - this is in the same universe as Mirrors, which WILL be made into a long fic because thanks to The Cocky Undead, I totally have a plot line that's possibly a bit A/U depending on how this next episode goes. However - audience input time. I like hella dark stories. I mean...*really* dark. And this fandom is very much like Cameron and wonderful human cinnamon rolls, so I don't want to write something that's going to traumatize you all. Unless that's your thing, because we also seem to be a bunch of whumpers. But I do have an explanation as to why Jonathan doesn't like the water in Mirrors (Well, will, once I get to that part in the story). So read and review, let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay! I’ve been working on this for a while and it went from like 600 words to almost 4000 again – something about the Twins in pain makes me prolific with the wording.   
> My precious sons…so fun to whump! ONWARDS!

Jonathan could murder Cameron sometimes.

And the great part was, since no one knew there were two of them, he would get away with it.

Fortunately, those times were fleeting, and not all that frequent.

Right the hell now being an exception.

“Stop looking so worried!” Cameron called from the air, where he was swinging around a la Peter Pan style in a practically invisible safety harness and wiring from the ceiling.

Cameron had this insane idea that Sebastian one hundred percent backed that involved a flying routine. David Copperfield had done one similar back in the early 90’s, and Cameron decided it was time to update the routine, and in his own words, ‘make it cooler’. In the Copperfield special, he’d done little more than float gracefully above the stage, hovering while his nubile assistant passed a hoop over him showing there were no wires, and then set himself back down.

The Amazing Cameron Black, on the other hand, decided that just wouldn’t cut it for today’s audience. So instead, he got their dad to approve this ungodly complicated and grandiose flying illusion that would take him out over the arena floor where the audience was sitting, back over the stage, and entirely operable by Cameron himself.

Cameron sense of self-preservation did not lend itself to being trustworthy enough to hold his own life in his hands, which is why Jonathan was watching the practice from the stage, phone in his hand and fully prepared to dial 911 the second the wires snapped, because that was just how their luck went. The cosmos may love Cam, but it also had a nasty habit of trying to kick him in the teeth, too.

“Cam, for the love of all that you find holy, _stay below thirty feet_ , would you?” Jonathan shouted, trying not to chew on his cuticles out of sheer panic.

He hadn’t had a chance to take a look at the harness – one of the stage hands had concocted it with Cameron’s help, which was negligible at best. Cameron was all ‘right now or sooner’ while Jonathan liked (more like _needed_ ) to calculate every possible way that things could go wrong and how to adjust for them. And the fact that Cameron was taking it for a test drive before letting him take a look at it just made him more paranoid, like Cam _knew_ he would find something wrong with it, and find a reason to prevent him from using it.

“Thirty feet, forty feet, really – what’s the difference?” Cameron yelled back, flipping easily head over feet in a controlled spin as he turned back towards the stage, whooping in delight.

“Broken bones and death?” Jonathan pointed out.

Cameron signed dramatically, loud enough that his brother could hear him. “ _Positive_ reinforcement, Johnny, would it really kill you to use it?”

“No, but it might kill you!” he grumbled. “Just like I will…”

Cameron swung back over the stage, playing up his Cirque de Soleil acrobatics as he went, his grin nearly splitting his face in two. Of _course_ he was enjoying it. Higher, faster, _further_ – Cameron liked living on the edge, and he didn’t toe the line so much as play skip rope with it.

It would be a miracle if Johnny didn’t get gray hair by the time he was 20.

“All right, all right, you’ve had your fun, now come down so I can get a look at that thing before dad gets here,” Jonathan demanded.

“You are such a –”

Whatever insult Cameron was going to come up with was cut short when one of the riggings snapped in half just as he passed over Jonathan.

“AHHH!” he yelped in surprise and momentary panic, except Jonathan was already running towards him with his arms outstretched to catch him as Cameron swung down on the remaining line like Tarzan, gripping the wire white knuckled as he tried to right himself so he at least wouldn’t snap his neck when he fell.  

There was a second snap just Cameron dropped to a slightly less worrisome height of fifteen feet instead of thirty, and he fell like a clipped bird directly into Jonathan’s arms.

Sort of.

He collided into Johnny, knocking them both to the stage floor with a crack and a thunk as he bowled his brother over backwards onto the stage steps, landing on top on top of him as they hit the ground in a tangled mess of limbs and snapped wires.

“Nice catch,” Cam gasped, rolling to the side so his brother could breathe.

“I hate you sometimes,” Jonathan grumbled, unmoving from his sprawled position on the stairs. “Did anyone even do the safety check on that thing before you went up there?”

Cameron scoffed. “One, you love me no matter what. It is the Law. Two…sure. Of course I did.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

Cameron averted his eyes, looking guiltily away as he chewed his bottom lip. “Well…it’s what a trial run is for, right? To work out the kinks?”

Jonathan shot his brother a death glare. “You mean to tell me – _that_ was how you tested it out for the first time?”

Cameron offered a one shouldered shrug and winced as he did so, rubbing at his shoulder where he’d come down hard on the stage. “Weelll….”

Jonathan went to push himself upright to properly throttle his brother, because _really, Cam_? But he barely managed to lift himself before immediately crying out, a sharp stab of pain radiating up from his lower back that shot like lightning up his spine, stealing his breath as he let himself drop back down to the floor, gasping in pain.

“Oh, hey, whoa – what? What happened?” Cameron asked, immediately hovering over him, grasping onto the hand that Jonathan wasn’t even aware he’d put up to brace against his brother, his fingers tightening into Cameron’s shirt as he tried to make himself _breathe_. “What hurts? Do you want me to get dad?”

Johnny immediately shook his head, because the last person he wanted to see _ever_ was Sebastian, and he wasn’t entirely sure their dad wouldn’t pull him upright just to prove he was fine and he didn’t want to imagine how much that would hurt. “N-no. Just give…give me a second?”

“Yeah, sure…okay, I can do that...are you sure?” Cameron asked, gnawing on his lower lip in worry.

The stage hands weren’t paying that much attention – they saw both of the Black boys moving and didn’t give them another glance. Johnny wasn’t even sure if they spoke English well enough to talk to them.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. Y-yeah. I just…I think I bruised something.”

“Dude. You’re like eleven shades of white. You did more than bruise. Can you move your feet?”

Jonathan obediently wiggled his toes, but it wasn’t that something was numb or distant – it was a sharp, stabbing pain right in the middle of his back, but not like he’d broken anything. He knew that sensation well enough. But vertebrae weren’t exactly packed under a layer of fat for either twin, and he’d slammed one of his into the edge of the stair catching Cameron.

“I think it’s just going to leave a mark,” Johnny said, sitting upright again – this time much, _much_ slower. It still _hurt_ , but he reasoned he did just have a hundred pounds of Cam slam into him. Besides. Short of bleeding to death, Sebastian wasn’t about to take them to a doctor, and realistically, Johnny kind of sided with their father. Hospitals sucked, and so did doctors. Unless he was dying, he didn’t want to go either.

Cameron looked at him doubtfully, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “You _sure_?”

Jonathan forced a smile, which felt more like a grimace, but he nodded. Ouch. That hurt, too. “Yeah. I’m fine.” And just to make sure Cameron dropped it, “what the hell were you _thinking_ , swinging around like an idiot with an untested harness like that? How many times do I have to tell you, _check with me first_!”

“Oh, come _on_ , Johnny!” Cameron bristled, the last three minutes forgotten in the wake of a scolding. “I didn’t ask you to catch me! And anyway….”

* * *

 

As days turned into weeks, Johnny found himself struggling to be able to hold himself upright for long periods of time. He started to list to one side, as Cameron put it, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa – or more colorfully – like he was 2 seconds away from giving a lecture best suited for Tyler Perry’s Madea.

He couldn’t help it. He didn’t even really notice how bad it was unless he was looking in a mirror or at Cameron and he realized he wasn’t able to meet his brother’s gaze levelly. But his back still ached – not enough to do anything about it, or mention what happened in detail to Sebastian, but enough that by the end of the day, he would melt into the first soft place he could land and not move again for the rest of the night.

He couldn’t stand up straight. It hurt to bend over. It hurt to stretch. It hurt to do nothing. But nothing like when he’d first hit it – just an obnoxious, dull ache that grew over the course of the day the more he engaged his spine. He figured he’d just bone bruised it, or never had a real chance to rest and recuperate thanks to traveling.

Only when it started to interfere with performances did Sebastian really take notice, and then it was mostly to berate him for poor posture. He dragged him to a chiropractor, who told him “oh, you just have a weak core” and gave him a pamphlet for exercises to do on his own.

Only Cameron seemed concerned enough to mention it on a regular basis.

“Dude…maybe we should lay off the appearances for a while, huh? I can figure out a way to do it on my own.”

Johnny shook his head, his feet propped up on his brother’s lap as they lay on the couch so he could take the pressure off his lower back. “Nah. It’s fine.”

“You don’t _look_ fine,” Cameron protested.

Johnny shrugged, refusing to meet his brother’s accusatory glare. “Nothing’s broken. I’ve been to a chiropractor. What’s a doctor going to do?”

“The chiropractor thinks you have a ‘weak core’ – and until you hurt your back, you could do a sit up hanging upside down by your ankles. That’s not a ‘weak core’, Johnny. That’s the _opposite_ of a weak core.”

Johnny shrugged again. “Hey, I’m just _listening to the doctor_ , Cameron. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me to do?”

Cameron growled in frustration, which meant Johnny knew he’d won.

* * *

It wasn’t until almost nine months later that Johnny realized something was terribly, horribly, _painfully_ wrong.

It was the dead of night. Everyone was asleep, including him until he had to get up for a glass of water. It wasn’t until he was halfway across the room that it finally sunk in that he couldn’t feel the floor beneath his bare feet.

He dropped the cup in his hand, the glass shattering on impact as it hit the tiled floor and bits of glass and water hitting Jonathan’s feet and shins.

He felt nothing. Not the glass. Not the water. Not the floor.

He stared at the puddle around his feet, the chilled water gathering in the grooves of the tile, waiting for _something_ to sink in. He wasn’t _that_ sleep deprived, right?

The kitchen light turned on, and he heard his brother’s groggy voice behind him.

“Johnny?” Cam yawned, rubbing sleep from one eye with the back of his fist. “You okay?”

He took a step back from the broken glass, turning his entire body to be able to look at his brother because it was now second nature – he hadn’t really been able to turn at the waist for weeks. His brain blanked. Because no, he wasn’t _okay_ , he was so very far from _okay_ it was terrifying.

_He couldn’t feel anything below his waist_.

He opened his mouth to say something, and there was nothing.  What the hell was he _supposed_ to say? _No_ didn’t seem to convey the magnitude of what was so obviously wrong.

“Johnny!” Cameron yelped, suddenly rushing forwards. “What the _hell_ , man? Watch out for the glass!”

Johnny looked down at his own feet, suddenly noticing the red seeping out from underneath his heel, and he picked up his foot to look – well, tried to.

The dull, familiar ache in his back spiked like someone pressed a hot iron to it and he sucked in his breath between his teeth, stumbling sideways when he lost his balance trying to overcorrect.

Cameron caught him easily under his arm and held him up, which didn’t help because Cameron could stand up straight and did so naturally, pulling Johnny’s back straight. He saw, rather than felt, his left leg crumble underneath him.

The hot iron twisted as Jonathan was jarred against his brother’s side and this time he couldn’t stop the yelp of pain.

“I’m calling the ambulance,” Cameron swore. “I don’t care what the hell you have to say, _or_ Dad and don’t try and tell me you’re fine, because –”

 “ _Hurry_ ,” Johnny whispered.

Cameron stopped dead, and Jonathan could hardly blame him. He would’ve thought he was hearing things too, if his brother had said the same thing.

“Johnny…how bad?”

Johnny shook his head, because his normal pain scale didn’t go up this high. “I c-can’t…”

Cameron, ever the perceptive one, frowned slightly before softening. “Johnny…can you feel the glass?”

Johnny shook his head again.

Cameron’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s it. We’re not waiting for the ambulance.” He turned his head over his shoulder so he wasn’t yelling in Johnny’s ear. “ _DAD!_ GET UP!”

Johnny didn’t even protest involving Sebastian. Not that he thought he was any source of comfort, but at least he had a driver’s license.

“Johnny, hey – look at me,” Cameron coaxed, which Johnny did obediently. “Can I put you down?”

The idea of _anything_ touching him made him inwardly flinch, but he didn’t want to imagine how his brother was going to pull him back up. He’d discovered muscles that connected he didn’t even realize existed in the last few months – it hurt on an average day to get up out of bed.

He shook his head again. _Please…don’t_.

“Okay,” Cameron soothed. “I won’t. I don’t know how fast you can move, but we should probably head for the elevator now – and when I get you to the car, I’ll come get Dad, or steal his keys or something, okay? But before we go, I need to do something about your foot. Can you balance with the counter?”

“Y-yeah,” he said shakily. “Just…be gentle, okay? I…c-can’t feel anything below my waist but my b-back is killing me.”

To his credit, Cameron didn’t panic, which would’ve been surprising to anyone but Jonathan. Cam’s ADHD was usually exhibited in the constant movement, inability to focus for more than ten and a half seconds or his complete lack of self-preservation. But Johnny almost always saw it come out in hyper-focus on certain tasks.

Or people.

And that was usually focused on Johnny himself.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch his brother pull a giant shard of glass from the heel of his foot and feel absolutely nothing. Not the glass being extracted, or the pressure his brother carefully applied with a clean dish towel because they didn’t have band aids in that size.

Cameron didn’t stop his running commentary though, which seemed mostly centered around Johnny being a dumbass for not mentioning how bad it had clearly gotten, and he was going to lord this over him for _years_ every time going to a doctor was brought up.

Johnny didn’t bother to point out that they both knew he _had_ gone to a doctor – more than once.

Which made this all the worse.

It was a painful, agonizingly slow trip down to the car – and Johnny wondered more than once if it really was faster than going in an ambulance, but he also didn’t want to have to ride alone with strangers. If _others_ were involved, it meant Cameron would have to stay behind and they’d be separated even sooner.

And Jonathan wasn’t a doctor, but he was pretty sure partial paralysis wasn’t something they were going to cure with Motrin and plenty of rest. He already didn’t like the hospital. The idea of not coming home was… _panic inducing_.

* * *

Cameron managed to roust Sebastian with little effort – probably hurling a glass of water in his face helped, but the older man was surprisingly quick about getting dressed and down to the car. Especially when Cameron told him Johnny _asked_ to go to the hospital.

The ride was near silent. Johnny didn’t want to talk, and Sebastian was hard pressed to hold a conversation with his second son under the best circumstances, and comfort had never been Sebastian’s strong suit. Cameron sat in the back seat with Jonathan’s chair almost in his lap, Johnny’s hand clenched so tight around his own he could feel it bruise under his grip every time they hit a bump in the road.

Johnny was growing paler, his teeth pressed into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and his hand was going cold in his – all signs of shock – and given how high Cameron _knew_ their thresholds were, didn’t bode well.

Maybe because there was nothing outwardly wrong with Johnny is what made it worse – every time they were hurt (which was often, given their line of work), there was always something Cameron could _see_ and understand and at least _try_ and help.

He didn’t even know what was going on, and neither did Johnny _or_ Sebastian, and they _always_ knew.

Always.

When they arrived at the hospital, Sebastian didn’t even park – he just left it near the curb as he jogged around to Johnny’s side to carefully pick up his son in his arms with a gentleness Cameron didn’t even know he possessed because now Johnny was _crying_.

Sebastian didn’t even remind Cameron to hide his face with his hood as he trailed after them. It didn’t matter – the staff didn’t even look at him, hiding behind his father and barely peeking out around him as Sebastian prattled off medical history – who they’d been to see, what happened, and how much _worse_ it suddenly was. He only had to correct him on the most recent symptoms.

They tried to take Johnny to get an MRI, but he couldn’t lay down on the bed long enough for them to an image.

They called in their emergency surgeon, who bumped two heart surgeries from the next morning after examining Johnny – Jonathan had priority.

Considering the surgeon was a combat surgeon for Marines and Navy SEALs, it did little to comfort any of the Blacks – but at least Johnny was too out of it from pain and drugs to protest or notice.  

Cameron spent the night curled up next to his brother, wrapped protectively around his back so he wouldn’t roll over. Even dosed to the eyeballs with morphine, tears still slipped out whenever Johnny tried to move (morphine always did make him twitchy). Sebastian stayed in the room, mostly off in the corner, his chin resting on steepled fingers, deep in thought with hardly a word until it was time for Johnny to be taken to surgery.

He’d uncharacteristically taken Cameron’s hand in his, squeezing tightly as they watched Jonathan wheeled into the OR.

“If something happens to Jonathan…” he started, and Cameron couldn’t stop the reflexive growl. “I don’t know what we’ll do…”

Cameron looked up at his father, and for the first time that Cameron could remember, he looked worried.

No. Scratch that.

Like he _cared_.

He squeezed his father’s hand back. “Johnny will be fine, Dad.”

_He has to be_.

* * *

 

It was something called ‘ _cauda equina_ ’ - which apparently was a fancy way of saying that Jonathan had ruptured a disc – probably falling on the stairs so many months ago which sent a pang of guilt through Cam’s heart – and that over time of misdiagnosis and continued use, the nerves in his spine were being pressed out through a teeny, tiny hole in the disc, compressing and killing them off until Johnny could no longer feel his legs or most of his lower body.

The surgeon seemed pretty impressed. “Kid, I’ve worked on people who have been _blown up_ and you had the worst case of CES that I have ever seen. And they were more reactive than you, too. You’re a hell of a trooper, son. But just in case you get any bright ideas about ignoring pain like that again – if you had waited one more day, you would’ve been paralyzed _permanently_. If you had waited another _two_ days, you would’ve _died_ from sepsis when your bladder ruptured. Understand?”

Jonathan did little more than nod, because what else _could_ he do? He hadn’t realized it was that bad. _No one_ had.

It was two days before they let Johnny come home, and he was stuck using a walker like a little old lady, much to his annoyance.

Cameron was delighted though. It meant _mandatory vacation_ time. Movie marathons. Game night. Avoiding the press and the paparazzi, because as far as everyone knew, it was _Cameron_ Black with the emergency back surgery. They couldn’t very well go on stage magically healed.

It was slow going. It would be years before the nerves properly regrew and Johnny would get full sensation back in his legs, but at least he could walk. At least he had a good sense of humor about it – he joked they should start up a fire walking act.

“Dad was really worried, you know,” Cameron said one night while they shared the couch watching _Charade_.

“Of course he was,” Johnny grumbled. “Without a spare kid, his act would be over.”

Cameron shook his head. “No…he was worried about more than that. He didn’t even remind me to hide my face at the hospital. I know Dad always seems a little paranoid…but do you think it might be over more than just the act?”

Johnny looked away from the screen to meet his brother’s gaze. “Like what?”

Cameron shrugged. “I don’t know…and that’s kind of what worries me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a friend of mine had this - and other than the circumstance (she did a shoulder roll in karate class) - but the symptoms, the sudden onset, the paralysis, the being misdiagnosed by multiple medical professionals...yep. All real. Anyway. Read and review if you care to! Reviews feed the muse (And I am working on a sequel/2nd chapter to Icarus from Johnny's point of view)! #savedeception (remember to keep sending messages to ABC and other networks! The actors just got nominated for People's Choice for breakout stars for series!)

**Author's Note:**

> So a lot of this is directly from personal experience. I have no idea the medical accuracy behind it, but Jonathan's point of view was *my* point of view from the incident. Except, you know, no brother. Anyway. Whump trumps medical accuracy anyway - it is the unwritten law. (sort of - I'm just not a medical professional, just a professional unlucky klutz). Read and review if so inclined, but they definitely help posting faster! ::wink wink, nudge nudge::. Anyway, come find me on tumblr as disappearinginq if you want to chat about it!


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